


Summer of Stancest - collection of prompts

by magmatenente



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: ALSO that good old man fluff, Depression, M/M, Mentions of choking, Sibling Incest, and kinky solutions to hot summer afternoons, its not all of the prompts but uhhhhhhhhhh, summer of stancest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-07
Packaged: 2018-12-25 00:57:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12024720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magmatenente/pseuds/magmatenente
Summary: A collection of prompts from the Summer of Stancest event on tumblr.Mykonos, Mindscape, Fireworks, Heatwave.





	1. weeks 1 & 2: Mykonos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First prompt of the event. 400 words, unedited, sfw.
> 
> Thank god Stan is used to cleaning up Ford’s messes by now.

“So.”

The gruff voice is enough to snap Ford out his forced meditative state. Eyes still fixed on the darkening line of the horizon, but mind interrupted from its task recalling constellations invisible to the eye in the still-setting sun, the embarrassment of earlier events floods over him again, owing his brother a frustrated groan and not much else resembling a reply or explanation.

“I mean, he was being insistent, but stomping out of there like that was a bit over the top, don’tcha think?”

Ford scoffs. Over the top. Anyone would’ve reacted as he had if put in a similar situation.  
Well, perhaps not everyone. Stanley would’ve laughed it off, played along with the newly made acquaintance.

With a groan, Stan sits down next to him, the sand not as warm as it used to be when Ford first sat down, at a safe distance from the water which had quickly crawled forward and was now lapping at the soles of his feet.

“How long have I been here?”

He feels his dry throat croak as he speaks, still hoarse from the scene he threw at the bar.

“Eh, forty minutes, give or take. I had to spend some time assuaging” Ford feels his brother’s gaze on his as he stresses the word because honestly, he couldn’t lie saying he wasn’t surprised Stanley even knew that word, “the guys at the bar. They were asking me some… difficult questions.”

Stanford felt the tip of his ears warm up again. It had all been so casual until that point, with Stan playfully flirting with 2 bartenders at once and Ford actually having a good time talking about the Aegean Sea’s biology with a local diving instructor. A good time that abruptly turned sour when the diver’s foot very deliberately slid up Ford’s calf.  
The chair scraping loudly against the wooden floor was what made Stan’s attention move away from his drink and land on Ford, who was red as a beet and pointing an accusing finger at the other man. “I will have you know that I am taken!”, he shouted, before storming off in a huff.

In hindsight, he definitively could’ve done things differently. He could’ve let him down like a normal person, could’ve… made something up. He regrets it so much, and the scene keeps replaying in his head and every time different variables are thrown in.

Stan’s quiet snicker is what thankfully snaps Ford out of the looping flashbacks.

“So. Lemme ask again.” Stan says, covering the back of Ford’s hand and linking their fingers, “Who’s the lucky guy?”


	2. weeks 3 & 4: Mindscape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Second prompt of the event. 450 words, unedited, sfw with slight mentions of choking
> 
> Always having your brother on your mind can be quite frustrating.

The wheat shudders when he materializes, a gust of wind bringing the mindscape alive.

It has been a while since Ford last delved so deep in his subconscious through meditation, letting himself fall into trance in a room filled with burning incense and lit only by a few sparse candles. But now he’s here again, at the center of his Self, the shadow of his magnum opus looming over him as it has been doing for the last 30 years. Thankfully, the billowing sails of the Stan o’ War are also still there, offering solace in that otherwise empty plane.

He reaches for his breast pocket, feeling for the 50 year old photograph he has faithfully carried with him all this time. He still doesn’t know if he’s glad to be back or if he’d rather have died while trying to—  
Stop.  
He came here to relax, not to have old regrets boil and bubble to the surface like a tar pit.

The swingset creaks in the distance, and it catches his attention. Unusual, for things to move without him touching them. He turns to check, and can’t hold back the gasp when he sees his brother using it.  
Technically, he reminds himself, it’s not his actual brother, but merely a projection of his sibling in his younger years. A face Ford hadn’t seen in literal decades…

With a step, he’s next to him. Anger and something like bittertasting nostalgia sweep over him, and Ford grips his brother’s shoulder roughly, forcing him to turn towards him. Stanley’s face looks ethereal, unmarred by acne scars or any sign of age. Timeless.  
For a moment, Ford can’t breathe. Stanley merely looks at him as his thumb traces the line of the yet to square up jaw.

Stanford regrets his actions even before indulging in them, but he pays his conscience no mind. His hands slide down his brother’s chest and arms, roughly yanks at Stanley’s wrists and pulls them towards him, smashing their lips together.  
Stanford tastes spit and snot, no doubt coming from his sobbing and hiccuping brother. He doesn’t remember how long he’s had him pinned against the metal pole of the swing, nor how hard he’s been tightening his hold on Stan’s neck. He hates him. He hates him he hates him he wants him he hates him he loves him—

Ford gasps, violently ripped away from his dream and thrown back onto the plane of reality.

His jaw is clenched shut, molars grinding in frustration. His one safe space, the one fortress he thought his brother could stay out of— demolished.

Stanford can’t help but burn a hole through the ceiling as he lifts himself up and heads back to the surface.


	3. weeks 7 & 8: Fireworks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fourth prompt of the event. 900 words feat. Stan's depression, unedited, sfw. 
> 
> It’s hard to swim when all you wanna do is keep sinking.

When he rouses from sleep and feels the familiar heaviness in his chest, Stan wishes it was bedtime already.

His movements are sluggish, and no matter how much he wishes to move his legs, he’s just not. His feet feel glued to the warm wooden flooring on the boat, far too heavy to move— but he has to, even if it’s one of those days.

The freezing breeze outside helps very little with the gloom that keeps his eyes half lidded and his mouth expressionless. With a sigh, Stan sadly accepts that during breakfast, his brother noticed. He missed an opportunity for a quippy remark after a comment on his disheveld appearance, didn’t scarf down his bacon as fast as usual, didn’t sit next to Ford when he was done, heading outside instead. They’re all telling signs, and Ford’s been getting better and better at picking those up. Or maybe it’s Stanley who’s just not keeping his problem to himself well enough.

No point in trying now.

Time stretches endlessly, the deep blue line of the horizon seemingly unmoving, with calm waves rocking the boat as he waits for the sun that’s never going to rise. Stan feels like he should be heading back to bed, but his wristwatch doesn’t agree— 9:28 AM, 233 K, clear starry sky. Darn polar night, messing up his already rusty and messed up internal clock.

“Aren’t you freezing?”

He jolts at the gloved hand clasping his shoulder, the muffled voice ringing loudly in the deadly quiet of the Arctic. Ford has a point, but the cabin felt too suffocating after the awkward time at breakfast, so Stan shakes his head, pulling the heavy scarf back over his mouth after flashing a forced smile to his twin.

“You know… starry nights like these. They remind me my first winters at Gravity Falls.”

So, maybe Ford hasn’t realized Stan is having quite the bad day. Not by the way he eagerly places his hand over Stan’s, nor by how lighthearted and smooth his voice sounds.

“I’m glad we’re here together, Stanley.”

He scoffs behind his scarf. Glad. As if anyone could ever be glad of being stuck with him in tow. Good ol’ Stanley Pines, pathetic old man. Has everything he ever needed, but still there’s a weight in his chest that doesn’t let him be as happy and thankful as he should be, and the guilt of being unhappy eats him alive and he can’t breathe or think and he’s spiralling and just wants to let it all out and ruin everything—   
Despite that he tries, turns his hand so their gloved palms touch and their fingers tangle, and remains quiet.

When the first pop goes off, Stan doesn’t know where to look. He’s been staring at their hands for who knows how long, trying to pick out the right emotions form the blurry mess that he’s feeling right now. There’s a flurry of yellows and greens and reds above their heads, and Stan’s eyes can’t help but dart to Ford’s face to ask what’s happening. Ford beats him to it.

“A little trick,” he chuckles, “since i know how much you like your tricks, I thought…”

Stan’s mouth is dry. A trick, he just called it. Magic is happening in front of his goddamn eyes and Stanford just called it a trick.

He feels his chest both swell with wonder and tighten in self-conciousness.

“There’s a bunch of fireflies goin’ off like fireworks over our heads and you’re callin’ it a trick?”

He winces at his own voice. First time he’s spoken a full sentence and it’s dripping with venom. He hates it. Hates that he slipped, hates that whatever he feels contaminates his surroundings like this.   
The light around them dim. The fireworks don’t go off anymore, and they idly hover around Stanford, unexploded, as delicate as soap bubbles.

“You don’t…? I thought, since you weren’t feeling so good—”

Stan interrupts his brother by holding that six fingered hand tighter. He can’t believe he’s the one that just made Ford feel like he’s 15 again, awkwardly standing in a classroom after one-upping the teacher in front of his peers.

“It’s, no, I— it’s… I can’t believe you can—”

He tries. He tries with all his might, putting some emotion in what he’s saying, ignore the tar pit or self-hate he’s sinking in while inevitable dragging Ford down with him.  
He feels so small.   
How could he ever compare? He’s nothing but a snarky, tourist-swindling crook. His hands are quick, but picking pockets isn’t magic. How could he ever give back?

He fakes a smile, the effort overwhelms him. He realizes Ford can’t even see his expression behind the scarf.

“…for me?”

He sounds spent, the disbelief in his voice hanging in the air far too long. He’s sure he’s crying, and with how freezing the night is, that’s not a good idea.

He reaches for Ford’s cool face, a sinner asking for a forgiveness he doesn’t deserve, the back of his hands bumping into the bubbles that can finally pop in clusters of fist-sized explosions. It sets up the chain reaction that inevitably ends with warm coffee in the safety of the cabin.

Stanley Pines still doesn’t believe, but Ford thinks he’s worth it, and that’s as good as it can get.


	4. weeks 9 & 10: Heatwave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fifth prompt of the event. 400 words, unedited, barely sfw.
> 
> Theres really not much better than a tall glass of ice.

“Ford, I’m gonna die.”

The sweltering heat makes no pleasant companions for lazy afternoons, and Stanley’s decision of leaving the mattress behind and settling on passing out on the floor can only give so much relief.

The slight scrape of a chair against the floorboards feels like it comes from another room, amplified and muffled by the heat at the same time. He barely registers that his brother started to talk.

“—ne drinking this, you can have my ice.”

A groan is all Stan can muster. His heat-induced out of body experience is ruined only by the sad realization that his sweaty back is glued to the floor. “Hhnt move………’m stuck.”

“Since you’re just laying there I guess the only thing I can do is dump the ice on you, uh.”

Oh… Ford’s water with ice. Well, more like ice with water, if Stan had a say on what to call it. So cool, so... refreshing... honestly, eating a cube or two didn’t sound half bad right now…

“ —ley? Stanley? Are you even awake?”

Even just lifting a hand to prove he’s conscious feels like an herculean task. It flops back to the floor with a thud, sticking itself to the floor. The chair moves again, and moments later a new source of heat is putting Stan’s survival in jeopardy: Ford was kneeling next to him, and for a moment Stanley was unfortunately reminded how it feels to sit next to a radiator in the middle of summer.

The sting of the ice against his chest is a call back to reality that pulls him away from dreams of radiators, snaps him out of his sluggish state, only to slowly lull him back to sleep again afterwards. The patterns his brother lazily paints with the ice cube on his chest are regular, specific, hypnotic, relaxing. It feels… otherworldy. Seconds feel like they’ve stretched into hours, and he can’t recall at which point the heat drained from his chest to pool someplace else, can’t pinpoint when his brother’s hand landed on his thigh, or when his breathing became so shallow.

His eyes are still closed, floating in a limbo between a dream and heat exhaustion. Stan has lost count of how much ice has melted, but still the newest cube is always a shock, a jolt of electricity, that brings him back from falling asleep every time, back to the bedroom, back to Ford and the cool wet lines he’ll chase with his tongue.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i think the funniest thing out of all of the tags on tumblr was the confusion about this chapter, where i thought the teen stan vibes were strong but people read it as old man stans anyway....AH WELL. as long as u enjoy i dont mind, my content is here to be read whichever way u want 
> 
> BUT ANYWAY.  
> that does it boys!!!!thats my prompts for the summer event   
> I don;t think im gonna have time to ever complete the missing prompts. but now that ive finally started writing for this ship i dont think im gonna stop anytime so!!!! there's that. Expect more from me and thanks for reading!!!


End file.
